ADDRESS 


JOS.  B.  GUMMING 

ON 


THE  OCCASION  OF  THE  ERECTION 
OF  A MONUMENT  ON  THE  SITE 
OF  FORT  AUGUSTA.  (ST. 
PAUL’S  CHURCHYARD) 
NOVEMBER  22,  1901. 


Chronicle  Job  Print, 
Augusta,  Ga. 


All  countries  of  this  planet  are  equally  old — yet  we  speak 
of  old  countries  and  new  countries.  When  we  speak  of  the 
new  we  mean  a country  newly  opened  to  civilized  man. 

A new  country  addresses  the  sentimental  or  spiritual  side 
of  humanity  only  through  the  manifestations  of  external  na- 
ture. Such  food  as  this  part  of  man’s  organism  requires,  he 
must  find  in  such  a country  in  the  solemnity  of  the  unbroken 
forest,  the  grandeur  of  the  lofty  mountain,  the  majesty  of 
the  brimming  river ; or  in  the  less  obtrusive  beauties  of  foliage 
and  wild  flower,  vale  and  rivulet,  and  the  throusand  other 
appeals  of  unmarred  and  unscarred  nature  to  man’s  spiritual 
part. 

But  the  nature  stage  of  a country  passes.  In  the  thirteen 
original  states  of  this  Union — in  which  fair  sisterhood  Georgia 
is  the  youngest — the  duration  of  that  stage  was  short,  as  we 
count  time  in  the  lives  of  countries.  Then  enters  a country 
into  the  history  stage.  In  this  stage,  that  less  gross  and 
material  part  of  man,  which  “cannot  live  by  bread  alone”,  and 
which,  in  the  country’s  nature  stage,  fed  upon  the  food,  which 
nature’s  grandeur  and  beauty  provided,  finds  at  least  some  of 
its  pabulum  in  the  contemplation  of  the  trials  and  achieve- 
ments of  humanity. 

Let  me  give  a concrete  illustration  of  these  abstract  de- 
liverances. I find  it  on  this  very  spot.  Oglethorpe,  when  he 
first  came  to  the  site  of  our  city,  which  was  to  be,  a century 
and  two-thirds  ago,  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  primitive 
nature.  If,  outside  of  his  subjective  resources,  he  craved  re- 
freshment for  the  spiritual  part  of  him,  he  could  find  it  only 
in  that  encompassing  nature.  What  had  she  to  offer  him  on 
this  spot?  Doubtless  all  the  charms  of  the  forest — magnificent 
umbrageous  oaks  of  every  variety  of  that  noble  tree  and 
wide-spreading  elms  and  hickories,  interspersed  with  the  bay 
and  the  magnolia,  and  intertwined  by  vines,  floriferous  and 
many-colored.  To  the  north  and  west  he  looked  upon  an  am- 
phitheatre of  the  everlasting  hills,  also  crowned  with  the 
glories  of  the  primeval  forest.  He  saw  debouching  from  those 
hills  and  flowing  under  this  bluff  a majestic  river,  greater  in 
length  and  breadth  than  many  another  famed  in  song  and 
story — more  beautiful,  too  ; for  then  crystal  were  its  waters 
and  emerald  its  shores.  But  this  spot  had  no  other  interest 
than  those  unchanging  features  of  nature.  It  had  no  history. 
The  country  was  devoid  of  memories  to  stir  the  blood  and 
quicken  the  pulse.  It  held  no  spot  hallowed  and  glorified  by 

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a no'ble  life  or  an  heroic  death.  It  possessed  no  locality  where 
one  might  stand  and  say:  “This  is  holy  ground.  This  place  is 
baptized  in  patriot  blood.  This  spot  witnessed  brave  deeds 
done  in  a sacred  cause.”  There  was  no  field  on  which  mem- 
ory aided  by  imagination  could  marshal  the  spirits  of  the 
illustrious  dead. 

This  same  Oglethorpe,  who  stood  on  the  wooded  banks 
of  the  Savannah,  had  many  times  trod  the  aisles  of  Wesminster 
Abbey.  These  two  extremes  present  the  idea  I am  seeking 
to  express.  The  spirit  here  on  the  Savannah  finding  its  re- 
freshment in  the  beauty  and  majesty  of  nature.  The  spirit  in 
Westminster  Abbey  feasting  on  the  quickened  memories  of  a 
glorious  history.  Which  appeals  strongest  to  humanity?  Na- 
ture or  history?  The  everlasting  hills,  the  perennial  river,  the 
primeval  forest?  Or  the  ancient  Abbey,  the  tombs  and  the 
effigies  of  those  immortal  “other  living  whom  we  call  the 
dead?”  Each  will  answer  this  question  for  himself. 

This  spot  has  passed  beyond  the  nature  condition  and 
entered  not  a little  way  into  the  history  stage.  I fear  its  de- 
parture from  the  former  has  been  proportionately  greater  than 
has  its  entrance  into  the  latter.  “What  man  could  do  man 
hath  well  done”  to  mar  “the  changeless  things" — the  hills,  the 
river.  The  noble  forests  have  fallen.  The  axe  has  denuded 
the  hills.  The  plough  has  stained  forever  the  limpid  river 
with  the  color  of  the  upturned  soil.  One  must  find  interest  in 
this  spot  in  other  features  than  those  which  characterized  it 
in  Oglethorpe’s  time.  While  in  fancy  we  picture  its  then 
natural  beauty,  and  while  we  lament  its  disappearance,  we  are 
largely  consoled  by  reflecting  on  its  present  interest,  deeper 
than  forest  or  hill  or  river  ever  inspired.  Since  that  time  it 
has  become  the  site  of  a temple  of  the  living  God,  to  which 
generations  have  brought  their  prayers  and  praise,  their  chil- 
dren to  be  baptized,  their  parents  to  be  buried,  and  their  lovers 
to  be  wedded.  But  its  special  interest,  which  has  brought  us 
here  today,  is  the  first  fact  in  what  I have  ventured  to  call  the 
history  stage  of  this  spot.  We  are  here  under  the  auspices  of 
that  noble  band  of  patriotic  women,  the  Colonial  Dames, 
whose  motto  is  “Virtutes  majorum  filiae  conservant,”  to  take 
part  in  the  ceremonies,  intended  to  perpetuate  the  memory 
of  the  fact  that  this  is  the  site  of  the  little  colonial  fort  which 
Oglethorpe  builded  one  hundred  and  sixty-six  years  ago.  In 
those  far  off  days  this  outpost  of  civilization,  which  has  grown 
into  our  fair  city,  was  known  not  as  the  town  of  Augusta,  but 
as  “Fort  Augusta”.  To  this  place  traders  resorted  both  for 
its  commercial  advantage  and  for  the  protection  which  this 


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little  fortification  afforded  from  the  denizens  of  the  neighbor- 
ing boundless  forest. 

But  everything  passes— colonial  days  went  by,  and  states 
struggled  for  independence.  Then  a more  dramatic  interest 
gathered  about  this  spot.  Within  the  compass  of  these  walls, 
above  these  graves,  in  the  sight  of  yon  onlooking  hills,  in 
hearing  of  the  murmurs  of  the  near  by  river,  men  fought  and 
bled  and  died  in  and  around  a larger  fort — each  in  the  cause  he 
espoused',  each  under  the  flag  he  cherished.  Here  men  fighting 
loyally  for  their  king,  and  men  fighting  unselfishly  for  their 
country  have  hallowed  the  spot  and  given  it  an  interest,  which 
it  could  never  have  derived  from  the  mere  beauties  of  nature, 
were  they  ever  so  great. 

In  response  to  that  sentiment  of  our  nature  which  dis- 
tinguishes and  consecrates  localities  where  critical  parts  of 
the  historic  drama  have  been  acted,  we  come  to  this  place  after 
the  lapse  of  one  hundred  and  sixty-six  years  since  the  planting 
of  the  little  colonial  fort  to  commemorate  that  event,  and  that 
one,  too,  of  larger  interest — the  siege  and  capture  of  the  Revo- 
lutionary fort,  within  whose  lines  we  are  now  standing,  some- 
time British  and  sometime  American,  changing  its  name  with 
its  shifting  fortunes,  now  “Cornwallis”  and  then  again  and 
lastly  “Augusta”.  Henceforth  while  granite  and  bronze  en- 
dure, this  monument  will  keep  these  historic  memories  from 
perishing  from  the  earth. 

i With  all  reverence  for  the  teachings  imparted  for  genera- 
tions in  this  nearby  sacred  edifice,  I say  it:  How  little  we 

know  of  that  other  world  in  which  we  all  believe  t How  far 
is  it?  How  near?  How  thick  the  veil  which  hides  it  from  our 
mortal  vision?  How  thin?  While  “across  the  narrow  night 
they  fling  us  not  some  token”,  are  those  on  the  other  side 
better  endowed  than  we,  so  that  'While  we  cannot  penetrate 
the  veil  they  may  see  and  know  what  passes  here?  If  that 
be  true  and  there  be  among  those  lookers  and  listeners  from 
the  other  side  any  who  tasted  here  the  double  bitterness  of 
death  and  defeat,  they  will  know  that  we  erect  this  monument 
not  in  triumph  but  simply  in  memoriam — in  memory  of  the 
little  fort,  in  this  region  the  first  bulwark  of  commerce  and 
civilization ; in  memory  of  the  Revolutionary  fort,  the  goal 
and  prize  of  disciplined  battalions;  and  in  memory  of  victor 
and  vanquished  alike.  Success  is  an  ignoble  shrine  at  which 
to  worship.  Courage  and  devotion  to  duty,  these  be  worthy  of 
monuments.  We  are  a people  who  have  not  hesitated  to  erect 
memorials  to  failure.  Witness  our  noble  Confederate  monu- 
ments, all  of  them  recording  a magnificent  failure  frankly  and 


proudly,  because  filled  with  brave  and  noble  self-sacrifice. 
We  have  imparted  a new  meaning  to  battle  monuments.  The 
theme  of  our  monuments  is  not  victory — perhaps  unmerited  : 
but  courage  and  devotion  to  duty— though  defeated.  Let  this 
monument,  which  we  unvail  to-day,  stand  on  that  high  moral 
plane — a monument  to  duty  done,  an  equal  memorial  to  the 
victor  and  the  vanquished,  the  successful  and  the  unsuccessful 
brave,  the  men  who  found  their  duty  in  fighting  for  their 
country,  and  the.  men  who  saw  theirs  in  upholding  the  standard 
of  their  king. 


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